Chapter 471
Chapter 471
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 471
Chapter Title: The Bet
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The bet began, and without a moment's hesitation, Bahamut sprang into action.
His approach was brazenly direct.
"Erect monuments across all Dragon Tribe territories chronicling my great deeds."
At Bahamut's command, the seven Primordial Dragons who served him moved out immediately.
They carved entire mountains into massive stone slabs and summoned lava to etch letters into them.
He sought to imprint his presence once more into every corner of Dragon Tribe life.
In every Dragon Tribe territory scattered throughout the Abyss.
In the heart of their cities, at temple entrances, even in the valleys where young dragons trained.
Overnight, colossal monuments and statues rose tall.
Etched upon them were Bahamut's grand myths in intricate detail.
How he had single-handedly held back the demon legions.
How he had rallied the scattered Dragon Tribe and forged them into rulers of the Abyss.
How a single judgment from him had sealed the fate of an entire race.
Every tale revolved utterly around Bahamut.
He was their savior, the wise arbiter, the unyielding guardian of order.
And that was not all.
He compiled a massive tome called The Dragon Chronicles, encompassing the entire history of the Dragon Tribe, and distributed it to every dragon.
The first page began with Bahamut's birth, and the last depicted him passing the throne to Dragon God Sepiro before entering eternal repose.
In between, the names of all other dragons were mere supporting roles, existing only to highlight his feats.
It was a one-sided barrage of information, akin to brainwashing.
Dragons awoke each morning to Bahamut's statues, encountered monuments of his deeds while walking the streets, and read books of his myths before sleep.
In their minds, the shocking miracle Park Chan-woo had shown during the interspecies war gradually faded.
That space was slowly refilled by the worn, familiar glory etched into their blood and history.
"As expected... Bahamut is our true god."
"It was just a fleeting mirage. Our real history was always with Bahamut, wasn't it?"
Public opinion, as Bahamut intended, swiftly swung back toward him.
In the Dragon God Temple before Park Chan-woo's jade throne, Ataraxia and Darkan's faces were filled with anxiety.
"This can't go on."
Darkan said in an urgent tone.
"Bahamut is waging a propaganda war against the entire Dragon Tribe. His methods are childish and blatant, but effective. The dragons' hearts are wavering day by day."
Ataraxia nodded gravely as well.
"I agree. Bahamut is attacking us with the most powerful weapon of all: the 'past.' The 'future' potential we showed in the interspecies war is losing ground to the stability of the 'past' his faction touts."
Their report was spot on.
Park Chan-woo closed his eyes for a moment.
Awe was dimming, replaced by nostalgic familiarity.
Longing for the old king outweighed respect for the new god.
How could he turn this tide?
Should he counter by flaunting his own feats like Bahamut?
No, that would be the worst move.
Park Chan-woo lacked the 'history' to earn the dragons' empathy like Bahamut.
His exploits in the interspecies war were dazzling, but they were a 'human' myth, not a 'Dragon Tribe' one.
Brashly touting his greatness would only breed resentment, confirming to them, "He's just an outsider after all."
So, what should he do?
In this invisible war, what unique weapon did Park Chan-woo possess to shatter Bahamut's stale myth?
That was when Zero cut into their conversation.
"Simple."
He yawned, as if everything bored him.
"Just overwrite the old myth with a new one."
"What do you mean by that?!"
Darkan shot back in frustration.
His face screamed, This isn't the time for vague nonsense!
"A new myth? Greater than what our lord showed in the interspecies war? But the dragons are already forgetting even that!"
Ataraxia couldn't comprehend Zero's words either.
"Bahamut wields 'history' as his weapon. We can't just fabricate history that doesn't exist."
To their impatient, logical rebuttals, Zero merely shrugged.
"You're overthinking it."
His gaze turned to Park Chan-woo, who sat silently on the throne, listening to it all.
"What does Bahamut tout? Past glory, great victories, unshakable order. All plausible, but it boils down to one thing: 'results.'"
Zero wagged a finger as he continued.
"He's seducing the dragons with finished stories, conclusions set in stone. But stories aren't just about results. They brim with 'processes,' 'choices,' and 'possibilities.'"
For the first time, Zero's eyes gleamed with the cold light of a rational analyst.
"Bahamut only speaks of his victories, erasing the nameless dragons sacrificed for them. He imposes his order, ignoring the weak who groaned beneath it. His myth seems perfect, but it's a half-tale, missing the most vital parts."
Ataraxia and Darkan fell silent, at a loss for words.
"The new myth you need to create isn't something grandiose."
Zero's gaze fixed on Park Chan-woo again.
"Just give them a fresh 'experience' right here, right now—one no dragon has ever had. Show them living possibilities absent from Bahamut's dusty history books."
At his words, Park Chan-woo finally spoke.
"We'll make statues too."
"...You mean to erect your own statues, my lord?"
Ataraxia asked cautiously.
Was he suggesting they mimic Bahamut's childish antics?
That wouldn't be a new myth—just a pathetic imitation of the old one.
But Park Chan-woo shook his head.
"No."
His gaze passed over all the dragons below the throne, reaching far into the forgotten annals of Dragon Tribe history.
"We'll honor the sacrificed dragons. We'll console the nameless ones lost to the shadows of history."
Park Chan-woo's command lacked Bahamut's bombast.
He erected no monuments to himself or compiled any tomes.
Instead, he opened the grandest plaza in the Dragon God Temple to all dragons.
And there, he set up a single podium.
"This is the 'Plaza of Memories,'" Park Chan-woo declared.
"Stand here and share the name of the greatest dragon you remember, their story, with everyone."
The dragons were baffled at first.
Bahamut had commanded worship of himself, but Park Chan-woo urged remembrance of others.
Ataraxia broke the awkward silence.
He ascended the podium and began recounting an ancient dragon who had once led the Tribe of Despair.
That dragon had perished valiantly in the Great War, yet his name appeared nowhere in Bahamut's grand chronicles.
As Ataraxia's tale ended, Demon Merchant Dagon standing nearby hired sculptors on the spot.
They carved the nameless dragon's likeness into a statue and erected it in one corner of the plaza, name inscribed.
That sparked it.
Hesitant at first, dragons began ascending the podium one by one.
An elderly dragon spoke of how his father sacrificed himself for his kin; a young warrior shared his master's final teachings with all.
With each story concluded, a new statue rose in the plaza.
In the very spot where Bahamut's colossal statue had once stood, now hundreds, thousands of nameless heroes shone like stars.
He's different.
This one... will remember us.
Ah, my friend. I'm so glad to meet you again, even like this.
If this one becomes our Dragon God, our stories will live forever.
The dragons realized.
History wasn't forged by one great king alone.
It was the collective sacrifices and devotions of countless souls that formed a mighty river.
Bahamut's myth gave them 'pride,' but Park Chan-woo's gave them 'solace' and 'empathy.'
Their hearts began shifting, ever so slightly, toward a new sky.
And so, a month passed.
The promised time arrived.
Before the eyes of every dragon scattered across the Abyss, a voting window of divine light appeared simultaneously.
Two names.
[Bahamut]
[Park Chan-woo]
Only one choice allowed.
Bahamut sat upon his throne, gazing down leisurely at it all.
He was confident.
What that fool did is nothing but sentimental pandering.
Park Chan-woo's month-long efforts seemed like childish play.
Honoring forgotten heroes and listening to their tales?
Sure, it might sway hearts temporarily.
But dragons weren't so sentimental.
They were the Abyss's most perfect, rational beings.
Armed with reason, they would choose proven power and history to make their tribe greater and stronger over fleeting emotional comfort.
He himself was proof.
His era was the Dragon Tribe's golden age of prosperity and might—their reason would remember.
The outcome is set.
Bahamut harbored no doubt of victory.
Thus, the dragons began voting.
It was perfectly anonymous.
Not even the Creator could know who voted for whom.
A system forged by mutually agreed absolute magic—utterly tamper-proof.
Time passed.
Every dragon in the Abyss chose their future, their new god, with their own hands.
At last, when all had voted...
The results were announced.
And.
"......This can't be real."
Bahamut, seeing the results, denied reality.